“Enough of living in the past, Marlene,” he said. “Let our son rest in peace.”
I read them all.
***
Denise opted for a more subtle approach. One Thursday, she showed up with two coffees and a brochure from a grief counselor.
“Honey, you’ve been carrying this responsibility alone for ten years,” she said. “No one is asking you to forget it, just to breathe.”
I took the brochure, but I didn’t call.
Something deep inside me refused to let go. Call it instinct, stubbornness, or a mother’s refusal to bury a child she never got to say goodbye to.
I didn’t call.
***
That Saturday, I was strolling through the local market when I saw them. I almost fell to my knees on the sidewalk!
Hannah’s earrings. The ones Rick designed.
The middle-aged, tired-looking woman behind the table was arranging a chipped porcelain set.
“Where did you find that?” I asked. My voice didn’t sound like my own.
She looked up and shrugged. “It arrived in a box with my belongings two weeks ago. I don’t know exactly whose it is. My son handles the back-and-forth trips.”
I saw them.
—Please— I whispered. —I need it.
The woman announced a price. I didn’t even count the tickets.
My hands were shaking so much they almost fell off.
***
I drove home with these earrings pressed so tightly against the palm of my hand that they left marks.
***
When I entered the kitchen, Rick was serving coffee.
“I need it.”
My husband paled, then turned red, when he saw them. Afterward, he placed the cup on the counter, slowly and carefully, though I could see the trembling in his hand.
“Why did you bring these things into this house?” he shouted.
I froze.
“Because they belonged to Hannah!”
He stared at them for a long time. Then he shook his head.
I could see the jolt.
“They’re not yours, Marlene,” she said neutrally. “Many jewelers make piano-shaped earrings. It’s a common style.”
“Common?” I said. “You designed them yourself!”
Suddenly, my husband gripped the edge of the kitchen counter so tightly that his knuckles felt like bones.
“Throw them in the trash! Hannah is dead!”
I didn’t understand, because Hannah was missing, not dead.
Rick avoided looking me in the eyes.
“They’re not yours.”
